


Condolences

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Series: Cats, the V is silent [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 03:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18357389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Theron visits Cats' parents after her death on Darth Marr's ship. He's only going to stay an hour, just long enough to give his condolences.





	Condolences

The speeder taxi whizzes away before Theron’s had a chance to confirm that he’s got the right address. It’s gonna be a long walk back if he’s got this wrong. He stands in front of an adobe cottage on the outskirts of the town. There’s a rock garden out front with pointy plants dotted inbetween the rocks and stones. He doesn’t have to be a geologist to know that not all the rocks are local. Some are smooth, some are rough. One looks like it has veins of precious stone running through it. He walks to the edge of the property and peers down the side of the house. Yep, right place alright. The _Majestic Princess_ is parked up in a field behind the house. Yellowing corn grows around it. He wanders back to the front door and takes a deep breath. One hour. That's all.

The door opens a crack before he can knock. A lean grey-haired man scowls, his hand at his hip. A blaster, probably. The man looks Theron up and down, nods and opens the door fully.

“Come in my boy, we’ve been expecting you.” He’s got a gravelly voice, the kind of voice that could charm the credits from a card cheat.

Theron blinks. He looks around. There’s no one on the street. He doubts this is a trap, and if it is, well, he’s been in worse places than a stranger’s house. He steps in, taking in his surroundings and noting his exit.

“Ma, the boy's here,” the man yells. Theron knows the man’s name; he read it on a dossier. Hertzog Starstreaker. He's shorter than Theron was expecting.

The woman Mr Starstreaker yelled to yells back something Theron can't quite catch, but it’s enthusiastic. The woman herself appears from around a door. She looks exactly like the holo in Theron’s dossier, only thirty years older: Grey hair pulled into a bun, a few wrinkles pulling at her mouth and eyes. “Well. You took your time. You’re here now though. Let me look at you.”

She’s slightly taller than Theron but she somehow gives off the impression that she’s looking up at him. She squeezes his arms and pats his cheek. This is weird. Really weird. She looks him up and down and makes a satisfied hum. “You could use more iron. How much red meat have you been eating?”

“A bit, I guess--”

“Well eat more. Or take a supplement.” She turns her attention to the kitchen. “Go and put the kettle on, Dad,” she says to Mr Starstreaker.

“Already on it.” It's a sing song reply. Mr Starstreaker whistles as he takes out cups. “Caf, Theron?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” How do they know? Could just a lucky guess.

“Cee two’s popped a circuit and we can’t figure it out. Cats was always the one to maintain him, but with her gone…” Mrs Starstreaker shrugs. “We have to do our own chores. Barbaric, I tell you.” she laughs.

Grief threatens to lurch through Theron. He swallows and keeps it at bay. “I could take a look if you want.”

Mrs Starstreaker smiles ruefully and pats his shoulder. She’s a handsy woman, it seems. Reminds Theron of her daughter. She directs him to the couch while she goes and fusses with Mr Starstreaker. The couch is a monstrosity: huge pink floral patterns decorate the fabric, but it’s not as bad as the rugs. No, it’s carpet, ancient carpet that’s peeling up at the edges and corners. It looks like a bantha threw up in a regular pattern. Theron looks away.

Mr Starstreaker brings two cups over and passes one to Theron.

“Thanks. Sorry, I don't think we've been introduced,” Theron says.

“Where are our manners,” Mr Starstreaker replies. “I’m Dad.”

“And I’m Mom. Cats always called me Mom. Dad calls me Ma, so do Guss and Corso.” She waves her hand. “You go with whatever you prefer.”

He’d prefer ‘Mrs or Mr Starstreaker, or even first names. He doesn’t answer, just nods and takes a sip of the caf. Damn, that’s _strong_. Perfect. “Well, I’m Theron Shan, but you already know that. Nice place you have here.” He looks around. The walls are covered in holos, printed photos and art. The photos, he realises, are all of Cats and her crew, a few of the ship. There’s a corner shelf lined with glass bottles, all neatly labeled. Looks like they’re filled with dirt or mud or sand. He takes a gulp of caf and looks away.

“It’s small, but there’s only two of us now,” Mr Starstreaker  says.

That's his cue. Time to get this over with.

“I’m sorry. I came to offer my condolences,” Theron says.

Mr Starstreaker gives a half laugh. “Ah, yes, well we’ve certainly been given plenty of those recently. We'll add yours to the pile.” He makes a show of plucking nothing out of the air and gently placing it on the side table beside his chair. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. It's the first crack Theron's seen.

“I’m sorry,” Theron mumbles. “I didn’t know her very well.”

“You knew her well enough,” Mrs Starstreaker says. She sits uneasy on her chair, her hands clasped together.

“We worked together, on a mission.” He’s not sure how much they know about Cats’ involvement with defeating Revan. By rights they shouldn’t know anything, but Cats isn’t--wasn’t--military and trying to get anything about confidentiality and secrecy through to her was impossible. Hoping she didn’t get drunk and start blabbing in cantinas was about as much as Theron could hope for.

“The lovers, the two men, imp and ‘pub, right? At the underwater base? So romantic. Then there was that whole pirate retreat--”

“Rishi--we went there for our honeymoon--”

“Fewer pirates back then. Yavin Four sounded terrible though. All that _swamp_.”

Theron holds in his sigh. So much for classified. He can’t help notice the way Mrs Starstreaker says ‘swamp’ though. Theron blinks back those memories and concentrates on being annoyed at Cats, but he can’t stay mad at a dead woman.

Mrs Starstreaker sighs. “We thought something like this might happen. She used to take the easy jobs, smuggling contraband that would only get her slap on the wrist or a fine she could bribe her way past. Used to drive us crazy. She’s a smart girl, she could do better than that.”

“Could’ve smuggled artifacts easily. We taught her well,” Mr Starstreaker says.

Mrs Starstreaker’s eyes glaze over. She stares at the hideous carpet. “She was just lazy. But then a few years ago, she came home with a crew. Corso and Risha, you know them. Said she’d landed a cushy job with the Republic. We didn’t know what was really going on. She just kept coming back to visit, and every time she did, she had a new crew member. She’d shipped for four years on her own--well, with Cee Two--and suddenly she had a crew. She was a changed girl. She’d grown up, matured. We were so proud. Then it all came crashing down.”

Theron shifts. A little niggle of guilt starts to creep in. He’d expected tears, awkward silence. Instead he’s getting Cats’ life story and his part in it. “Darmas Pollaran and Senator Dodonna.”

“That’s it. But it started before then.” Mrs Starstreaker blinks slowly. “She started taking more dangerous jobs for the credits. I’ve got a medical thing, it’s boring, you don’t need to know the details. It’s manageable, but the kolto is expensive. Cats just wanted to make sure we could afford it.”

Cats’ dossier was vague on what happened before Pollaran and Dodonna got their hands on Cats, but it was her involvement with their scheme that put Cats on Theron’s radar. Someone with a knack for getting in and out of locked down airspace without being noticed. That’s who he wanted for Korriban.

“She came to visit after…” Mrs Starstreaker clicks her fingers, suddenly alert. “What planet was it, Dad? Manaan?” Mr Starstreaker nods. “That’s when we first heard about you and Lana. Such a nice girl.”

Theron gulps. This is all his fault. If he hadn’t--no. He can’t think like that.

“But when she came back from Ziost… Something was wrong. The whole crew were flat. She didn’t say much, just that she saw a lot of people die. She wouldn’t explain. None of them would, not even Akaavi, and she doesn’t usually hold back.”

“It was the Emperor,” Theron says, his voice thick. “The Emperor vaporised the whole planet. I was there, too.”

Silence. Theron can’t look up. He stares into the bottom of his caf mug. That was all his fault. He rushed in, risked his team. For some of them, the damage was permanent. At his debrief on Carrick Station, Saresh and Satele had been more than furious. Apoplectic.

“We talked after,” Theron says, not looking up. “Cats found me. Told me if I wanted help getting my head out my ass, I should come get drinks with her and the crew. I think she was in shock still. They all were. It didn’t really hit till later.” That was the last time he’d seen her. He clenches his jaw. “When did you last see her?”

“That was it, after Ziost. They stayed, restocked, then hit the hyperlanes. She sent us a message a few months later saying she’d been invited to a big shot meeting, same people from that Revan job. She didn’t know what to wear. We knew something was wrong as soon as the ship landed back here.” Mrs Starstreaker is quiet, but her voice doesn't waver. “She would always send us a message to say she was on the way. This time the ship just turned up. Dad was out tending the rocks. I joined him to greet them. She didn't come out first.”

“She always came out first,” Mr Starstreaker says.

“Instead, Corso and Risha came out holding hands. Guss had a jar in his hands. Bowdaar and Akaavi looked like they wanted to tear the galaxy apart.” Mrs Starstreaker sighs. “We knew.”

“Mm hmm. We knew.”

Theron swallows. His throat is thick. He pushes back the memory of Lana breaking the news to him. Instead he wonders, not for the first time, why Cats had gone to Darth Marr’s summit. Theron himself hadn’t been invited, of course, despite everything he’d done for the temporary alliance against Revan. He was still on administrative leave when the invite went out to Satele. She was supposed to be there, at the summit. Lana too. They’d both been delayed by their own side’s internal politicking… But Cats? The last thing she’d want to do was get involved with more Sith, surely.

“What was in the jar?” he asks. “The one Guss had.” Couldn’t have been ashes. There was no body.

“Air.” Mrs Starstreaker laughs. “Air from Darth Marr’s ship. He labelled it ‘Sith air’. He collects dirt and air and sand from wherever they go, since we can’t come too. He says that way we’re part of the adventure, too. Such a sweet boy. I hope he’s okay.”

Sweet was one word for him.

“That reminds me,” Mrs Starstreaker says. “We have something of yours.”

She shuffles out the room, leaving Theron and Mr Starstreaker alone. The silence is loud. Theron clears his throat.

“You, uh, you seem to be doing well,” he says. “I know it can’t be easy.” The words sound hollow even as he speaks them. Fuck it, he’s stayed long enough. He’ll take whatever it is Mrs Starstreaker has for him and make his excuses.

“It was six months ago,” Mr Starstreaker says.

Theron winces.

“Ah, shit, son. I didn’t mean it like that.” Mr Starstreaker reaches over and pats Theron’s knee. “We knew you’d be busy. You’d come out here when the time was right.”

“How did you know I’d come?”

“Our children always come home eventually.”

Theron bristles, but manages to hide it. Last thing he needs is another set of parents.

Mrs Starstreaker shuffles back in. “This is yours.”

Theron takes a red bundle from her, gingerly, like he’s been passed a baby. He stares at the clothes with the same incomprehension he’d regard a baby with too. Cats’ jacket. His jacket. The jacket she stole from him after--during--

It still smells like her.

An ache blooms in his chest, rises up his throat. He swallows but his mouth is dry, despite all the caf. His tongue sticks in his mouth. His vision blurs and something splashes on the jacket, a wet _plack_. Another. And another. A pained whine comes from nearby, a mournful keening that’s awful to listen to. He’s crying, he realises, and the noise is coming from him. He can’t remember the last time he cried.

“Come here my boy.”

Theron goes sideways, pulled into a hug. From the softness against his face, he guesses he’s been pulled right into Mrs Starstreaker’s bosom. It’s a nice bosom. He doesn't resist. He just slumps, gives into the grief and tears and lets Mrs Starstreaker stroke his back and murmur _there there, I’ve got you_.

A head rests against his back, another set of arms wrap around him. Mr Starstreaker. He smells earthy, like a newly planted garden. “Let it out, son. It’s okay.”

He gives in and sobs. Sobs a wet patch through Mrs Starstreaker’s vest, all snotty and teary and dribbly. “I didn’t even know her… We only worked together… She shouldn’t have… I should have…” He cries and cries, letting out months of bottled up emotion, blubbing nothing words and apologies. He’s more like a jedi than he’d care to admit. If he hadn’t have contacted her about Korriban, if he hadn’t dragged her into the conspiracy on Rishi, if she hadn’t been the one to answer his distress call over Ziost...  Mr Starstreaker pulls away at some point. The kettle boiling in the kitchen tells Theron where he went. Mrs Starstreaker just keeps rubbing his back. He was supposed to come here an offer them support, not the other way around.

He pulls away and wipes his face on his teeshirt. Mrs Starstreaker hands him a box of tissues. Her vest is wet. “Sorry.”

Her hand on his back is a warm, solid presence. “Nothing to be sorry for. We cried for three days straight when the crew turned up. You cry as much as you need.”

He sits there, staring at the jacket on his lap, trying not to think.

“Stay for dinner. ” Mr Starstreaker hands over another cup of caf.

“Thanks, but I shouldn't.” Theron’s voice shudders more than it should.

“Stay.”

It’s not really an order but Theron’s in no mood to resist. He nods and makes his excuses to at least use the ‘fresher. He splashes cold water on his face and almost starts crying again when he sees his blotchy red eyes in the mirror. Yeah, he definitely shouldn’t head back to the spaceport looking like this. His stomach rumbles. Dinner sounds like a great idea.

*

Pizza, delivered. His kind of meal. Conversation’s about Cats, naturally. He manages not to cry again. Sitting here, on the couch with a pizza box on his lap, listening to Mr and Mrs Starstreaker talk about little baby Cats--big baby, by the sounds of it--doesn’t help the pizza go down, but he holds himself together.

Theron looks at the holo on the wall opposite. All six of the crew stand together, arms around each other, smiling. Must have been recent: she’s wearing his jacket.

“She had quite the crew,” Theron says.

“Mm hmm. They were family to her. And us.”

Theron stares at Cats. Her eyeshadow is smudged and her grin is huge.

“You got much family?” Mr Starstreaker asks.

Theron takes his time on his last slice of pizza. The Shan family. Where to start? “Mom’s a jedi. I’m not supposed to exist, but I guess that whole ‘no attachment’ thing didn’t work out for her. She didn’t raise me. Her master did. I was supposed to be a jedi too, but…” he shrugs. “Sometimes life doesn’t go the way you plan it.”

They manage to wheedle his life story out of him, how he was brought up, his delinquent teenage years, his aching need to belong. He mentions Satele only as much as he has to, leaving her name out. He keeps Jace wrapped up in a tight ball in the back of his brain.

*

He stays the night. They offer him Cats’ bed. He lies there for ten minutes before getting up and apologising. The couch is neutral territory, even if the springs are aren’t. Still, he sleeps better than he has for a long time. Solid, dreamless sleep.

He’s up before them. Makes caf. Mr Starstreaker materialises like he’d been conjured by the smell. The way they stumble around, bleary eyed, while they make breakfast, tells Theron exactly why Cats wasn’t a morning person.

“Did you want to have a look at Cee Two?” Mr Starstreaker asks.

It’s a simple fix. A couple of fried wires in the main circuit box, likely worn out from so much cleaning over the years. Replacing them is a pain in the ass though. Takes Theron a good hour of delicate finger work before he gets them in place.

C2 lights up and sparks to life. “I am Cee-Two Enn-Two, steward of this--this isn’t a vessel.” He looks around, pauses on Theron. “You are Theron Shan of the Republic. You are not Cats Starstreaker.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“I am programmed to serve this… house’s… captain. Is that you?” He sounds reluctant. Theron blinks and swallows hard.

“No. That’s Mr and Mrs Starstreaker.”

“Oh my! Ma and Dad! How wonderful!”

Theron tries not to take C2’s enthusiasm too personally.

He tries to leave after fixing C2, but ends up staying the rest of the day, and the night again. He helps out with the rock garden, shifting a newly acquired boulder into its final place. It’s hard work, but satisfying.

By the end of his three days staying in this mud-clad house, he’s feeling lighter, clearer, like a fog has lifted. He figures this means he should’ve taken up the therapy offered by the SIS, but before he came here and got smothered in kindness, he wasn’t ready to open up.

He breathes in the grassy dry air. He might not ever know exactly what happened to Cats. She was only part of his life for a short time, but man, what an impact she had. The galaxy continues, and Zakuul’s invasion rolls on as well. He shrugs Cats’ jacket over his shoulders. His jacket, again. It still smells like her, but the tears don’t well up this time.

As he hugs Mr and Mrs Starstreaker goodbye, he thinks at least Cats won’t be forgotten. Not by her family, not by Theron, and if she’s lucky, not by history, either.

 


End file.
